Chapter 3
Chapter Three
She knew exactly who he was. Charlotte never went into any mission blindly. She’d done her recon work. Carefully researched the man who would be so close to her during the case.
Once upon a time, Logan Sterling had been the beloved son of Jacqueline and Adam.
His mother had been devoted to him. His father proudly coaching Logan’s Little League team.
Logan had a warm, loving home. Fun Christmas celebrations where his mom made homemade cookies that they left out for Santa on Christmas Eve.
He even had a dog. A big, goofy dog who’d followed him everywhere and slept at the foot of his bed each night.
Then…
In a blink, his life had changed. His parents had been murdered. Everything Logan owned—or his parents owned—had been taken from him. He’d wound up in foster care. The dog had been taken to the pound. He’d learned not to trust. Learned to fight for what he wanted.
He’d been on his own completely.
Or, at least, that had been the story supported by the CIA research. On his own.
But his story hadn’t ended at that point. Logan hadn’t stayed in foster care. His maternal grandmother had found him. She’d taken custody of him. Cared for him. Loved him.
Even as Logan walked on the wilder side of life. Because Logan Sterling was a man with many connections. Dark and dangerous connections.
And, as the small, elite group met in the back room of his casino after midnight, Charlotte understood that quite a few of those dark and dangerous connections were gathered around the poker table.
Charlotte schooled her features. She’d long ago learned to control her expressions.
No sense in actually showing how you felt.
That would just give an enemy too much ammunition to use against you.
So she made certain to show only mild curiosity as she stood near Logan.
He was seated at the table, as were the other participants in the high stakes game.
Their attention was seemingly fully on the cards before them.
Five card draw. The players had already taken their new cards. Nothing was wild. And the stakes? Already insanely high.
She’d taken extra care with her attire for the night. An expensive, black cocktail dress that hugged her curves. Higher than normal heels. A pair of black glasses with gold accents.
The glasses weren’t just to give her a refined look. Oh, no. These were special. Equipped with a tiny camera and even a listening device. The better for her partner Jamar Miller to watch and record all the players in the room.
Logan wasn’t aware that these particular glasses were a top-notch bit of spy tech. There were plenty of bits of info that Logan was not aware of regarding the case. Need-to-know info.
Deliberately, she scanned to the left, wanting to get a clear picture of every individual in that back room.
And what a back room it was. More like some sort of luxury retreat.
A giant table for poker. A glittering chandelier overhead.
Plush couches to the sides. Scantily clad waitresses appearing to keep the drinks pouring.
And at that table…
Seven individuals. At a five-hundred-thousand-dollar buy in.
Logan lounged in his leather chair, appearing bored out of his mind. He had his cards in front of him, and she eased to the side so that she could stare down at his hand and see—
“We have a curious little rabbit in the room, don’t we?” A deep, dark growl. One rolling with the edge of a French accent.
Her head turned to the right. She found a pair of dark green eyes locked on her.
“Sniffing out secrets, are you, rabbit?”
Actually, yes, she was. Though she wasn’t some curious rabbit. Hardly.
“Working for your boss?” The man’s thick lips twisted in disgust even as anger glinted in his eyes. “Logan, I thought you were offering an honest game. But you have your scared little rabbit checking the cards and hopping close to you so she can let you know what bets to place.”
The silence in the room was suddenly suffocating.
Logan put down his hand. Card faces down. “I’m sorry, Pierre, but I believe your English is a bit off tonight. Because I could have sworn…” A muscle flexed along his hard jaw. “That you just accused me of cheating. Me. In my own home.”
Not really his home. His hotel. Yes, so…
Fine, his home.
Pierre swallowed. “I’ve been watching your rabbit. She stares at every player. Looks hard at them. Maneuvers to see everything. Une lapine.”
She had been staring. Trying to see everything, or, more specifically, everyone. But only because she was hunting for a particular predator. She’d wanted to make sure that Jamar received images of everyone in the room.
“Take off the glasses,” Pierre ordered her. “Retire tes lunettes. I do not trust them. You have a little camera on them? That what is happening? You watching? Watching moi?”
Logan burst into laughter. “Don’t be ridiculous. My personal assistant is not some spy with high-tech glasses who is recording you.”
Um…
Yes, she was.
And he’d just thrown out that statement? Actually dropped the spy word? The man liked to play with fire. While he might not ever get burned, Charlotte feared that the flames might engulf her.
Logan’s laughter died away. “She wears the glasses because I happen to find them sexy as fuck.”
Pierre still glared at her.
“She also doesn’t take them off because a stranger tells her to do so. She doesn’t follow any commands that others give her.” Logan’s mild voice. “I’ll go back to the part where…she’s mine. My personal assistant. So that means she listens to my orders and no one else’s.”
She’d been searched before entering the back room.
A rule for all who’d gone into this high-stakes space.
No weapons were allowed. Zero. Logan had warned her of the search beforehand, so she’d known to leave her trusty taser and her favorite knife in her room.
But, just because she’d left those two items behind, it didn’t mean she was unarmed.
It just meant she’d had to be very, very careful with her choice of weapons.
And if Pierre was about to attack her…
Or if one of the other players in the room should feel like making a move…
“I’d like to inspect the glasses.” A woman’s voice. Cultured. British. Vaguely curious.
Two women sat at the table. One was a British woman with carefully styled gray hair and faint lines spreading from the corner of her eyes. She wore a bold, vibrant red. A perfect match for the walls behind her. Her long, manicured fingernails were also that bold red shade.
Her nails tapped the table. “Not that I don’t trust you, darling Logan. But I just don’t trust anyone, and your little…ah, rabbit, I believe we are calling her? She has been very watchful tonight.”
This scene was going badly. She’d screwed up. Been too eager. Amateur mistake. Now she was about to pay the price for it. But maybe Logan could save this situation—
“Fine. Whatever. Give her the glasses,” he directed Charlotte.
“And, for the record, the next person who calls my assistant a rabbit gets thrown out of the game, understand? Her name is Charlotte. My Charlotte.” He rose.
Turned toward her. Reached out and plucked the glasses from her face.
He rubbed them against his shirt as she blinked at him.
“Look at that,” he murmured as his fingers slid over the glasses even as his gaze trailed over her face.
“Still just as sexy, even without the glasses.” He tossed the glasses toward the British lady.
“Here you go, Freya. Inspect away. Then we’re getting back to the game.
And, because I am now entirely pissed off, I raise you all five million. ”
Several players tensed.
The man from Atlanta—he wore a backwards baseball cap—immediately tossed away his cards. Sebastian Shay. “I’m out.”
The female from New York slumped her shoulders. Pearls adorned her slender neck. Diamonds glittered from her ears. “My father will kill me if I lose that much money.”
“Harper, your father will kill you if he finds out you were even here tonight.” Sebastian winked at her. “So how about you and I duck out and go have some fun?”
“The glasses are ordinary. Nothing special at all.” Freya dropped them on the table. “And I’m absolutely not in for a five-million-dollar hand right now. I, too, am out.”
Harper also folded.
That just left…
Logan. Pierre. And two other players.
Players who had been utterly silent while her glasses were examined.
But now one of them reached out for her glasses. “I want to see them, too.” No accent at all in his voice. Dark brown hair, blue eyes, golden skin.
Sighing, Freya extended the glasses. “Fine, Carmichael. Examine away. Because, obviously, my word is not good enough for you. I’ll remember that.” But right before he could snag the glasses, they slipped from her fingers. Fell to the floor.
Then Freya deliberately ground her high-heeled foot on them. “Whoops.”
What is happening?
“Did you just break my assistant’s glasses?” Logan asked. Tone mild.
“I’m sure you can afford to buy her another pair.
Especially considering that you are about to win a five-million-dollar hand.
” Freya ran her fingers over her hair, smoothing the already perfectly smooth mane.
“You think I don’t know you well enough by now that I understand your moves?
You only bet that high on sure things. A word of advice from me…
” Her gaze darted to the remaining players.
“Never underestimate him. Logan does not bluff.”
Carmichael scooped up the glasses. One of the lenses had cracked.
He held them up, frowned, then handed them back to Charlotte. Wincing, he told her, “We’re assholes.” A half-smile as his gaze lingered on her. “But, since you work for Logan, you are well acquainted with the asshole mentality, aren’t you?”
“Do not flirt with my assistant, Carmichael. She is one hundred percent off-limits to you.” Logan’s tone wasn’t quite so mild any longer.